Statue of Liberty
by StarrySkies
Summary: Stella's always been the strong one, the one everyone could look to for guidance, but the statue is falling to pieces. MacStella angst friendship
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Statue of Liberty  
**Author:** StarrySkies  
**Rating: **T (may change for future chapters)  
**Pairing:** Mac/Stella **  
Disclaimer:** Don't own anything. Characters are property of Jerry Bruckheimer, CBS, & co.  
**Summary:** Stella's always been the strong one, the one everyone could look to for guidance, but what happens when the statue falls to pieces?

* * *

Stella stood in Mac's office, waiting for him to arrive. He called her cell minutes before and told her to meet him there. He had a big case to tell her about. Her back was to the glass door while she stared at the bookshelf. She scanned the titles with her index finger and was just about to remove a book when she heard his feet clank on the metal stairs before he opened the door. 

"Whatcha got, Mac?" she asked without turning around.

He held open a manila folder but didn't look at it to recite the information: "Female, mid-to-late thirties, Greek-Italian descent, possible DV."

Stella cringed, realizing the description was of her. She closed her eyes, her mind recalling the definition of "DV." Domestic violence. She bit the inside of her cheek before she replied. "… Who told you, Mac?" she asked.

"Aiden said she saw you in the locker room." He watched Stella from behind as she nodded; her brunette curls bounced ever so slightly. She hugged her arms close to her side. He shut the empty folder and tossed it onto his desk, hoping to God that he would never have to see an actual folder with Stella Bonasera's name on it.

She stood immobile with her arms crossed over her chest in her typical stance, one foot out to the side. Still, she didn't turn around.

Mac's nervousness grew. "Well, are you going to let me see?

Stella exhaled and spun around slowly on the heel of her boot to face him. Her expression was devoid of emotion. She stared at him, awaiting his reaction. She tucked several loose tresses behind her left ear as to give him a better view of the damage. "There. Now can I please get to work on a real case?"

"What happened, Stella?"

"It's nothing. Don't make a big deal out of it."

"It _is_ a big deal," he paused, "and you know it. Now, what happened?"

"I got in a fight, okay?" she said at last.

He was shocked. "With who?"

"Just a guy I've been seeing." She turned away as she said it. She pretended to read the titles of the books on the shelf once again.

"I… didn't know you were… seeing anyone," Mac said hesitantly, his first time hearing about it, somewhat hurt that he didn't know before.

"Despite my work schedule, I try to have some sort of a life outside of this place," she said almost angrily and then silently cursed herself for her choice of words. She hoped Mac didn't take offense that it was a comment aimed toward his own social life.

"And he hit you," Mac half asked, half accused.

"Yeah." She turned toward him and snapped, "Are we done here?"

Stella was growing more impatient, and Mac knew but chose to ignore it. Stella was never one to be fussed over. And he knew that as well, but this was one instance where the fuss was necessary. "You're going to press charges, right?"

She turned her back to him once again. She silently wished she didn't come into work. She should have called in sick or taken at least a week of the vacation time she had banked from nearly eight years of working without a break. Give the bruise enough time to heal before she had to suffer the wrath of Mac. But, she never wanted time off. She had a job to do, and no one could do it better than she could. If she had taken a week, Mac would've showed up at her door, wondering what was wrong with her anyway. Better that it went this way instead, but she wouldn't let him know it.

"You're not going to do it, are you, Stella?" Mac couldn't believe it.

"I'm fine. Save the paperwork for someone who actually needs it."

"It may be your name on that folder next time," he said, trying to scare her into filing.

She sighed. "Save it, Mac. I don't --"

Danny bursting though Mac's office door interrupted her.

"Stella? Are you all right? What happened?"

She sighed again, this time in disgust. "What did Aiden do? Tell the whole unit?"

"Danny, please wait outside," Mac instructed.

"Isn't anyone gonna tell me what's going on?" he asked.

"Outside, Danny. Stella will inform you when and if she sees fit. And please stop any rumors you hear out there." Mac pointed towards the door, and Danny reluctantly exited out into the main lobby of the station. "Maybe this isn't the best place to have a private conversation," Mac said, taking note of many employees staring through the glass walls of the office.

Stella took a quick glance over her right shoulder to see most of the station drop their heads or turn away when they realized they had been caught. "Perfect," she muttered to herself.

"Follow me." He reached for the door handle.

"Mac, this is ridiculous. I'm fine," she tried to laugh it off.

"Just come with me." He opened the door for her. The fake smile soon faded, and she pulled her hair down in front of her face as she walked toward him. His right hand delicately found the small of her back, as it often did, to guide her down the steps and back toward the interrogation room.

"Fitting place," she joked, anticipating the grill session soon to occur.

Mac took note of the joke and under ordinary circumstances would have given her at least his trademark half-smile. But these were no ordinary circumstances.

"I don't know why you're wasting your time on this. I'm fine," she insisted. She ran her fingers through her dark hair and let it fall back down.

"I'm not wasting my time." What he meant, but could never say, was that he cared about her too much to let someone hurt her. He pulled out a chair for her, and she sat down, not taking her eyes off of the empty room on the other side of the one-way mirror. He took a seat beside her and waited before he spoke. The dim lighting of the room cast shadows on her dark olive skin, her beautiful face. The bruise was made even darker. Mac sat silently as she propped her head up with her left hand on the table; her ear rested in her palm; curls fell down around her forearm.

His silence made her anxiety intensify. And Stella Bonasera was afraid of nothing. She'd seen more of her share of the darkness of the city, investigated murders and kidnappings. You name it, Stella's probably seen it. But Mac Taylor, not talking at that particular moment, made Stella crazy. She couldn't take it.

"Are you going to say something?" she pleaded. Her eyes waited for an answer.

"What do you… want me to say?" he hesitated as he broke out of his Stella-induced trance.

"Oh, don't give me that, Mac. I know how your cop tactics work. I'm a cop too, you know." She was getting very angry. Never a good sign.

"Fair enough." He nodded. She was too smart for mind tricks. He had to at least try. "Why'd he do it?"

"I don't know," she said, half angry, half genuinely confused. She stuttered, "I -- He -- He got mad."

"About what?"

"I can't even remember!"

He watched sadness come across her face, and he knew that she had no clue what happened. _Most women don't_, Mac reminded himself.

_To be continued…_

* * *

A/N: I started this story a long time ago, and I got writer's block, but I'm posting it now, trying to work through it because I'm in love with this story and don't want to abandon it. Please forgive me if the update for this doesn't come as soon as you would like. :) 


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: This chapter was written a LOT quicker than I thought it would be. Must be all of the encouraging reviews. :) I hope I've lived up to what you were expecting.

* * *

She didn't want to do this. Not now. She'd spent her whole life trying to be the strong one. Stella Bonasera takes care of other people. Not the other way around. She didn't want Mac's pity. She didn't need it – or anybody else's for that matter either. Not Aiden's, not Danny's, not Flack's or Dr. Hawkes'. No.

"How long, Stella?" he asked.

She sighed before she responded. "How long, what?"

"How long's he been doing this?"

"Not long… Long enough, I suppose. Started with a couple bruises on my arms."

Her mind flashed back to that one night after they had come home from the bar. Him holding her down on the couch while he kissed her intensely, and how she saw dark violet bands circling her biceps when she awoke the next morning. Parallel marks from where his fingers had clamped onto the skin. She stood in her bathroom, staring at her arms in the mirror's reflection, wondering whether or not to cry. Stella knew she had to keep them hidden. And for a solid week, she wore her lab coat over her Dolce & Gabanna suit jacket even though it was more uncomfortable than switching them out.

She continued, "But this time, he hit me in the face." She felt a lump tightening in her throat but held it back at all cost. "And I... I called him a son of a bitch, and I threw him out of my apartment. That's it. He's gone."

Her mind recalled that event as well. He had stood at the door, crying. Stella turned on the stereo to drown his empty apologies out. She slid down the wall and onto the floor with a package of frozen strawberries pressed gently against her eye, softly crying tears she didn't know she had in her, and waited for him to go away. She didn't tell Mac about the crying.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure." There came that defensive tone again. Stella wasn't one to back down.

"How do you know he's not going to be waiting for you to get home so he can sweet talk you into letting him back in?"

"It's not gonna happen, Mac. I'm not going to let it happen."

"Stella, you are the most intelligent woman I know. And I know that you know it's not that easy."

She closed her eyes and pursed her lips the way she always did when she was frustrated, so much that her cheeks sunk in a little. He memorized that look a long time ago. "I know what I'm doing."

"Where'd you meet him?" _Maybe she'd fall for it._

"Sullivan's." Mac made a mental note with a nod.

"What's his name?"

"No. No way." Stella shook her head fiercely back and forth. Her lips pursed again.

"No, what?" _Damn it._ He silently cursed himself.

She shot him a look. "Do you _honestly_ think I'm going to give you his name so you can run it through the system? Don't even _think_ about starting that shit with me. I'm not going to file."

She was so stubborn sometimes it drove Mac insane. He didn't want to have to do this, but he didn't think he had much choice.

"Go home, Stella."

"What!"

"I said go home," Mac reiterated, less pleasant, more adamant. "I'm relieving you from duty. Get some rest. I don't want to see you here until tomorrow morning. No--" He fished in his pocket for a moment. "Here's my key." He removed it from the ring rather effortlessly, opened Stella's hand, and pressed the key into her palm. "Flack will drive you."

"I am not staying at your house. I can take care of myself," she insisted. She tossed the key onto the table. It made a "_clank"_ sound when it landed.

"Yes, you are. That's an order." _"Shhhhh_." He firmly slid the key back to her with his middle finger.

"An _order!_ You're pulling rank! I was talking to you as my friend! Not as my boss!" She slammed her hands on the metal table and half-way stood up from her chair and added, "You know, if I had known you were going to do this, I wouldn't have told you a damn thing."

Her words bit sharply, and it took everything he had to pick up his cell phone and tell Flack he needed him to run an errand.

* * *

"UGH!" she groaned. "This is so fucking ridiculous!" She slammed herself back against the headrest. She bounced back from the impact, and her curls continued moving slightly even after her body stopped. 

"Are you talking to me? Or to yourself?"

"I'm talking to myself, Flack."

He didn't take his eyes off the road. He just nodded and made a right-hand turn.

"That's an order," she mocked him and added an exaggerated headshake for effect. "Bullshit." She was fuming. "Can you believe he said that to me!" She turned toward the dark-haired detective in the driver's seat.

He noticed her looking at him out of the corner of his eye. But he didn't turn back to her when he spoke. "I'm sorry. Is this still you, or am I supposed to answer now?" he placed a hand on his chest, joking.

"Funny. Ever the comedian, eh, Flack?" She glared at him but couldn't admit that she wanted to laugh or at least smirk.

He shrugged his shoulders as if to say, "I try."

Comedy was always his safest bet. And neither of them wanted to talk about the real reason he was driving her home -- not even _home_. "Mac's home." "Boss' orders." Bullshit.

Flack couldn't even look at the bruise that was enveloping her left eye. He didn't want to remember Stella that way. It was too hard.

They pulled up to Mac's house, something she hadn't done in years. It looked different somehow. And it certainly didn't feel the same. After that September, she just decided it was better to keep her distance. And now, here she was, about to spend the rest of the day all alone in that empty space where Claire used to live. Felt blasphemous. Her stomach tied in knots, and she wondered how much money it would take to convince Flack to take her to her apartment.

"Do you want me to walk you up?" he asked, looking straight ahead and not over at her.

She'd noticed his lack of eye contact the whole way. She first chalked it up to having to keep his eyes on the road. And now that they were at a complete standstill, and the vehicle was in park, she felt more than a little embarrassed. "No, I got it. I'll be fine."

"You know, I can if you want. Mac would probably want me to." He nodded emphatically.

"That's real sweet and all, but I'm fine, Flack. Thank-you." She opened the passenger-side door and grabbed her purse and messenger bag from the floorboard. She'd gotten over her anger and was now utterly ashamed that Flack couldn't even look at her. They could look at dead bodies all day long, but one bruise, and he turned into some kind of wimp.

He swallowed hard. "You got the key?"

"Yeah, I got it." She'd held onto it tightly. She could feel the indentation it had made in her palm.

"Yeah. All right." He nodded, fiddling with the air vents on the dashboard.

She closed the door and started up the sidewalk, her heart pounding with every step. Was it too late to bribe him?

Flack rolled down the window on the side she just got out of. "Hey, Stella!" he called out.

She turned around to see him bent over the console, looking straight at her through the door – eye contact and all.

"You need anything, you call me."

She said nothing but offered a nod and a half-smile before she turned away.

TBC…

* * *

A/N – Thank-you again for all of the great reviews. I hope you liked this chapter as much as you did the first. Feedback does wonders. :) 


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: This took a little longer to write, but I hope you enjoy it just the same._

* * *

She had to force her hand to put the key into the lock and was well aware of Flack still parked by the curb, waiting for her to open the door. She glanced back once to see him watching her. It just wasn't that easy.

* * *

"Taylor," he answered.

"Hey, Mac. I just dropped her off."

"Did you make sure she got inside?"

"Yeah. She's in. She looks bad, Mac. Are you going to find that bastard?"

"I'm working on it."

"I wanna help."

"I'll let you know." And he hung up his cell.

* * *

She threw her bags onto the couch and scanned the room. 

Everything was bare. Stark white with no personality, so much unlike Claire it was disturbing. He'd even gotten rid of the frame that said: "Home is where the heart is." It used to hang by the front door. Stella seemed to remember Claire saying she stitched it herself. But it was gone. Along with everything else, it looked like. The only color in the entire place was an old copy of "Newsweek" with its red cover, lying on the coffee table.

A lumpy pillow and a gray plaid blanket were gathered at the end of the couch farthest from her. He still wasn't sleeping in their bed after all this time. If he slept at all…

The last time Stella was in his house was for the wake. She'd sat up all night with Mac, long after everyone had gone and were through offering their condolences. Each of them was of the utmost sincerity, but they never made him feel any better. He began to wonder if the word "wake" was code for "torture."

Roaming around, she caught sight of her face in the hall mirror. She peeled back her hair with her left hand and looked hard into the reflection. It wasn't like she hadn't looked at it before she went to sleep the prior night, or when she woke up that morning, or when she put on her make up in the compact mirror. It hadn't changed, neither color nor shape, but she felt a peculiar need to stare at it in case it disappeared somehow. She pressed her finger into the discoloration to make sure it still hurt. It did. Like a son of a bitch, it did. Her eyes watered.

She took the cell phone from her purse and dialed her home number. Punching in her code, she was met with 4 new messages.

"_Hey, Stella. Listen. I am so sorry, baby. I'll come by tonight, and we can talk, okay?"_

"_Stella, it's me again. Call me back as soon as you can. Bye."_

"_Hey, I'll bring some dinner over tonight. Chinese okay? Let me know. Love you."_

"_Hey again. I'm really getting worried that you haven't called me back 'cause I know you check your messages during the day... I'm really sorry, Stel. I'll never do it again. I promise. Please, let's talk this over."_

She closed her eyes for a moment and hung up the cell phone. She couldn't get dragged back into that. No matter how sweet he seemed. Stella knew all about men like that. She'd worked several cases of women who were murdered by their boyfriends and husbands. She thought she'd be strong enough to tell him it was over and not give in to his numerous apologies. She couldn't give in.

She chunked the cell phone at the couch's cushion, and it ricocheted, landing on the wood floor pretty hard. She didn't care to find out if it was broken or not. Slowly sinking onto the couch, she ran her fingers through her hair, resting her elbows on her knees, and started to cry. Her sobs echoed throughout the vast, empty house.

* * *

Mac walked into the Irish pub and scoped the building out for an employee. He spotted a familiar face wiping down the bar with a dingy white towel.

"Hey, Mike," he called out to an older man with a white beard and slightly long hair.

"A little early, aren't ya, Taylor? We don't open for another 20 minutes."

"Well, that's okay. I'm here on business." He tossed his gold badge onto the counter. Mike stopped wiping long enough to glance at the badge and then back up at the detective's face again. Serious.

"Okay… Am I in some kind of trouble? I swear I didn't do nothing."

"No, you're not." He pulled a photo of Stella out of his jacket and placed it onto the counter next to his badge. One that was taken before Claire died, he remembered, some function for the mayor. He'd kept it in his wallet for the longest time, just behind his driver's license in the clear plastic pocket. "You seen anyone in here with her?"

"Stella?" He knew her. She and Mac had been regulars for several months now, though he didn't know them well personally. He knew she liked rum and Coke, and he liked Irish coffee - house special at Sullivan's. And he didn't even need to see the picture, but he knew Mac was just doing his job. "Oh man, is she missing or something?"

"No, no. I'm just looking for a guy she was with. She said she met him here. Have you seen anybody with her?"

"Yeah, yeah. Ethnic-looking fellow. Dark skin, dark hair. They came in a couple nights ago together."

"Did you get a name?"

"I think she called him David or maybe Damon… I don't really know. I wasn't paying that close attention. I mean, I noticed she wasn't with you, but other than that, I try to mind my own business."

He wrote the two names down in his notebook. Better than nothing. He nodded. "Thanks, Mike." The detective returned the photo to the inside pocket of his jacket and retrieved his badge from the counter.

* * *

Stella was caught off-guard when she heard a ringing from underneath the coffee table. She was sure she'd end up owing the NYPD for the damages to her expensive company-issued phone. Apparently not. "Oh thank God," she exclaimed to herself. She kneeled down, retrieved the device from the floor, and looked at the screen. Recognizing the number, she accepted the call.

She cleared her throat before responding. "Bonasera."

"Hey, Stella. It's Aiden."

"Hi."

"Listen, I'm sorry for outing you. I just thought Mac would know how to deal with it better than I could."

As mad as she was at the entire situation, it wasn't Aiden's fault. It wasn't Aiden's fault; she knew that.

"It's fine. I didn't really expect no one would notice me walking around like this. Maybe an eye-patch would've been a better way to go."

Aiden tried to laugh a little at Stella's weak attempt at a joke, but all she could force from her mouth was a "Hmm." After a brief pause, she added, "If I had known it would cause this much of a commotion, I wouldn't have said anything, but I was worried, you know?"

"I'm fine, really."

Aiden secretly hoped Stella would reveal more about the situation, but it was evident that she wasn't going to go into detail. And there was really no need to, other than to satisfy good old-fashioned curiosity. But she knew it was really none of her business to begin with. Stella would've told her if she wanted her to know.

"You know, if you need me to kick somebody's ass, I'm here for you, Lady," Aiden said.

She managed to make Stella giggle, though it sounded to Aiden like the laughter was coming through tears. She thought she even heard a quiet sniffle.

"Thanks. Hey, uh, let Danny know that I'm okay. Really. You'll probably have to tell him more than once 'cause you know how he is," she joked.

"Yeah, sure thing." She'd never heard this tone in Stella's voice, and it made her a little apprehensive.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: I promise you this chapter's last scene's premise was already thought out and written out before "The Closer" so any coincidences you may see are just that. Coincidences._

* * *

"Yo, Messer," she called to him from the doorway. She leaned her shoulder and head against the facing. 

"What do you want?" he snapped without looking in her direction.

"Hostile much?" She watched him sit back from the microscope. His glasses were still stuck to his forehead until he pulled them down onto his nose. "What are you doin'?"

"I'm ordering a pizza, Burn. What do you think I'm doing, huh?"

She was taken aback. "Okay. _You're_ 0 for 2, and _I'm_ about to walk out this door right now."

He exhaled sharply and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to adjust his eyes to the fluorescent overhead lights. "Sorry… What do you need?"

"Stella wanted me to tell you that she's okay."

"What, you talked to her?"

"For just a minute."

"What'd she say?"

"She said she's okay, Danny."

"_Okay?_ Did you see her face? Or was I the only one? She's not okay. Some bastard hit her in the face. Nah," he shook his head repeatedly, "she's not okay." He turned back to his awaiting slide and started scribbling notes onto a legal pad, placing a remarkable amount of pressure on his writing utensil. He bit down on his bottom lip so hard Aiden was sure he'd draw blood any second.

_Stella was right,_ she thought to herself. _But what if he's right? _She waited a moment. "I'm worried about her too."

"Yeah, so what are we gonna to do about it?"

"I don't know what we _can_ do."

* * *

"Hey, Mac!" 

He turned around and replied, "Yeah?"

Flack caught up to him on the steps of his office. "Any word on our suspect?"

They both climbed the stairs and shut the glass door behind them.

Mac sighed. "No. I've got 2 possible first names but nothing solid to go on." Mac didn't know where else to turn. Without a last name, it would be almost impossible to find this guy. He had run out of ideas.

"Did you ask around her building?"

"No, I'm not going to do that." He couldn't ask her neighbors. Not even the nosy old Mrs. Jenkins who lived on the first floor – who takes note of everyone's comings and goings. Stella would never forgive him.

"So what are you going to do?" Flack was confused.

"I don't know yet. I'll think of something."

* * *

She eyed Mac's ridiculously small television and grabbed the remote off of the side table. She needed something to take her mind off things. Anything. 

She glanced at her watch. "What do people watch at 2 o'clock in the afternoon?" she asked. She hadn't been home at 2 o'clock on a Monday in God knows how long. The prospect was incomprehensible to her. She hit the power button. "CNN," she scoffed. "Figures."

_Click._

_"Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives…"_

_Click._

"_Are you tired of your long distance carrier?"_

"No, I'm fine, thanks," she answered and then smirked at the television.

_Click._

"_So what you're saying is you cheated on your wife with her sister, am I right?"_

"_That_ sounds ominous." She rolled her eyes.

_Click._

"How about a little pay-per-view?" She accessed the guide on the digital cable box and scrolled through the list of movies playing, decided on one that started in 15 minutes, and purchased it for $4.99.

* * *

"Oh, fearless leader," Chad summoned. The young lab tech was a bit eccentric, but Mac appreciated witty banter every now and again. And Chad seemed to be in endless supply. 

"Don't call me that," Mac replied, slightly amused – more so than he thought he could be, with all of the stuff weighing on his mind.

"Sorry." He bowed his head in mock worship, causing his boss to roll his eyes. Chad stood upright after a moment or two. "Is… Stella not here?"

"No, I sent her home."

"Is she… okay?"

Mac sighed heavily. _Here we go._ "What have you heard, Chad?"

"I've heard 3 different stories, so regardless of _what_ I've heard, people are talking. Gossip spreads like wildfire, Sir."

These people couldn't respect a sensitive situation if their lives depended on it.

"What did you need, Chad?"

"Okay, well, the phone on her desk was ringing nonstop. I was walking by. I answered it, and I took a message because I couldn't find her."

"What'd it say?"

He held the slip of paper up to read; "'Couldn't get ahold of you earlier, so I'll see you when you get home from work.' He wouldn't leave a name. Said she'd know who it was from."

"Of course," he said softly to himself. "Thanks Chad." Mac walked away quickly and headed towards the front doors of the CSI building.

"S--Sure?" he responded, confused.

* * *

5:15 pm 

He saw a man by the steps leading up to her building, almost exactly how Mike described. Seemed like he was looking for someone.

"You Damon?" Mac hoped he guessed right, walked closer, and held up his badge. "NYPD. We need to have a little chat."

He took one look at Mac and then broke out running the other direction. Mac wasn't far behind in pursuit. The man in lead took a sharp right into an alley, and if the detective hadn't already anticipated this move, he would've nearly run past. Finding they'd happened upon a dead end, Mac rushed to the fire escape his runner was desperately trying to scale. Mac caught his pant leg with his left hand and pulled the man to the ground.

He gathered Damon's hands together behind his back as if to put cuffs on him, stood him upright, and slammed his chest into the nearest wall.

"Here's the thing," he said, out of breath, into his ear. "You leave her alone."

"Who? What're you talking about, man? I didn't do anything!"

"Sure you did. If you didn't, you wouldn't have run." His heart was pounding out of his chest. "You're one dumb son of a bitch if you thought we couldn't find you."

"Aah!" he groaned. Mac had his hands in a death grip and planted his shoulder in the middle of Damon's back. "Damn that hurts!"

"Oh really?" Mac scoffed and tightened his grip even more, making the bastard writhe in pain. "Like I was saying, the next time you think about hurting a woman, you just remember this nice little encounter we're having right now because I guarantee you, next time – which there better not be – I will hunt you down again, and next time, I might not be so pleasant."

He didn't give a response.

"Do you hear me?" Mac growled. "Huh?"

"Yeah, whatever, man!"

"No. Not '_Whatever_.'"

"Okay, I'll leave her alone! Just let me go!"

Mac released his hold and backed away from Damon. He turned towards Mac, angrily and rubbed his wrists. Mac saw blood on the man's cheek from scraping his face against the bricks. But he didn't care. He deserved it.

"Does it make you feel like a bigger man to hurt a girl? Huh?" Mac walked backwards away from the man and pointed at him. "If this happens again, I will get her to press charges, and you _will_ be doing time. That's a promise. Remember that, you fucking coward."

* * *

_A/N: There's still more._


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Don't rag on the movie, please. It'll hurt my feelings.  
__And I apologize for it not being as long a chapter as its predecessors, but I've hit a roadblock. __Can't seem to get from here to the ending chapter, which is mostly already written..._

* * *

"Well?"

"I talked to him."

"What? '_Talked_' to him? Are you kidding?"

"That's all I could do. She's not pressing charges."

"Mac, that's insane."

"I know. But she refused. Believe me, I tried. She wouldn't even give me a last name. He answered to 'Damon,' but that's all I know. Still."

"So, it's taken care of?"

"Hopefully… I think so… Yeah."

"You sure?"

"Yes. She'll be fine, Flack. If you could relay the message to Danny, Aiden, and Chad, that would be great. I'm going to head out now."

"Absolutely."

* * *

She heard a knock on the door and then looked at her wrist. 6:40. Shuffling her bare feet across the wood floor, she looked through the peephole and saw him standing there in the orangey glow of dusk with his hands in his pockets.

"Who's there?"

He tilted his head to the side. "Funny."

He then heard the lock click and chain slide from the latch, and watched the handle turn to reveal her battered face, still visibly upset with him over their earlier discussion. She walked back without a word and resumed her position on the couch while he turned and re-locked the door behind him. Mac removed his coat and hung it on the wall hook.

"_All the girls gonna shake it in The Bounce tonight / Gonna do it like we do when the bounce is right / If it's cool, we can rock until the mornin' light / Can you feel the vibe/ Tell me can you feel the love?"_

He stepped towards the television, saw tons of young kids singing and dancing in formation on the beach, and gave Stella a blank look. "Are you honestly watching this?"

"Third time. Pay-per-view. You're gonna have quite a bill on your hands."

"Uh, apparently." He watched for a few more seconds. "What the hell is this?"

"'_From Justin To Kelly_.' You know, it's not as bad as everyone says. It's actually kinda cute. Those two definitely got somethin' goin' on. And I identify with that Guarini kid," she confessed.

"Why? Because you both have the nickname 'Curly'?"

"Exactly."

He raised an eyebrow in typical Mac fashion. "Uh…huh," he said slowly and then looked back at the woman on his couch.

"What did you _expect_ me to do all day? Sit here and twiddle my thumbs until you came in from saving my world?"

"Don't be like that, Stella. You could've left… but you didn't." In the back of his mind, all he could think was: _All hell's gonna break loose now._

"How am I supposed to be, Mac? 'Cause you obviously know more than I do about how I should handle my life. Go ahead and tell me."

And so it begins… 

"I was only looking out for you."

"I'm a big girl, Mac. I know how to take care of myself," she snapped.

"Maybe you should look in the mirror before you make such a bold statement," he replied.

"You did _not_ just say that." She sat up from the couch, grabbed her heels from the floor and put them on in a hurry.

"Stella, wait. I didn't mean it." _Damn it. Why did I say that?_

"No." She stood up and grabbed her purse off of the table when she felt his hand reach out for her arm. "Aah, shit!" she exclaimed, her knees buckled slightly, and she lost hold of her purse strap as she tried to pull away. He let go immediately, and their eyes both locked in surprise. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.

He took a deep breath and bit the inside of his lip. The look on her face told him all he needed to know. Why he didn't check before, he wasn't sure. "Take off the jacket, Stel."

She simply shook her head.

"You do it, or I will."

No movements were made, so Mac stepped behind her, took hold of the back of her collar, and pulled the jacket down. The fabric gathered just below her elbows. She closed her eyes and wished to God that she was anywhere else but in Mac's line of vision right now.

"Damn it, Stella," he said softly.

She felt a tear start down her face and make its way down her neck before it was absorbed in the material of her blouse. "Are you done?" Her voice quivered tremendously, eyes still closed.

Mac wordlessly grabbed her collar once again and helped her back into the jacket.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: The final chapter. :) Hope you like it.

* * *

"Please don't say anything. Please," she whispered. 

Her eyes were closed, and she stood still as though she was afraid to move. He looked her over, baffled by the sight of the woman standing in front of him. He was scared to even touch her, for fear that she might break.

"God, Stella. What did he do to you?" he whispered in return, ignoring her request. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know," she answered and then reconsidered. "Because I knew how you'd react."

"How?"

"Like this! Just like this! And I bet you even went looking for him today, didn't you? Did you find him even though I didn't give you a name? Huh?"

She knew him too well. He dodged the questions. "How did you want me to react? Did you want me to just ignore the bruise on your face? Did you want me to let you go back home to him? He could've killed you, Stella. Maybe not just yet, but if you had stayed, believe me, he would have."

"I am fine," she reiterated.

"No, you're not. A bruise on your face is not 'fine.' Your entire upper arm being purple an--and fucking _blue_ is not 'fine.' Your skin is supposed to be tan. Not blue, Stella." He immediately took a mental note of how ridiculous and juvenile that last remark sounded, but he was so caught up in the moment, that he didn't bother correcting himself.

"Why do you care so much about what color my skin is?" she snapped. She had also taken note of the absurd comment.

"You're my best friend, Stella! My God, I would take a bullet for you. I _have_, or don't you remember?"

"Of course, I remember, Mac."

"Yeah? Well, it's a little hard to tell sometimes."

She looked up at him in disbelief. "You know I remember, Mac," she said softly. It was an image that haunted her sleep.

He looked at her and sighed. "I'm sorry."

She nodded towards the ground.

He scratched the back of his head. "Let's go." He walked a couple feet to get his coat.

She looked up quickly, taken aback by his sudden change of direction. "Go where?"

"Let's go grab a drink."

"Okay." She'd agreed mainly because another second in that house would have made her go insane. As soon as they stepped out the front door, she took the deepest breath of fresh air.

Mac Taylor sometimes had a way of unknowingly suffocating her. So much concern at such a high concentration scared the living daylights out of Stella.

She grew up, learning never to expect someone to care about her. _"Don't you dare get your hopes up, Stella,"_ her conscience always warned as she sat in her little frilly dress, waiting for the nun in charge to retrieve her. Wannabe parents came and went. She learned not to get attached because it was easier that way. Easier so that when she had a meeting with an aspiring mother and father, and they looked her over and decided that she was "too ethnic" to portray the biological child of an upper class Irish couple in their production called "a happy family," she wasn't too crushed. She was "too old" to be placed with a couple in their mid-twenties... Too this. Too that. She got used to it.

Her partner, however, confused her. She didn't understand what it was about her that made him care about her unconditionally. It wasn't about how she presented herself. It wasn't about anything like that. They fought like cats and dogs – even moreso when Claire was alive – but with him… she wasn't too… anything.

* * *

She'd kept her head down and her hair in front of her face from the time they stepped out of the cab, even as they entered the front door. He walked behind her into the bar, his hand resting in its familiar spot on the small of her back, softly in unspoken assurance that this hand would never hurt her. 

Mike looked up from the counter and nodded in their direction. Wasn't too long before he brought their usual drinks to the booth Stella chose over by the back window.

"Is there anything else I can get you folks?" Mike asked before walking away, giving no indication that he'd conversed with Mac just hours earlier.

Thankful for Mike's charade, Mac looked across the table at Stella, who wasn't paying any attention - which could've been intentional, he assumed - and then back at the bartender on his left. "No, we're good."

She stared out at the busy street. Tourists with their incessant picture taking. One guy tried to wave down a cab, but they all kept passing him by. Red brake lights and yellow headlights dotted the night. But her mind wasn't on any of those things really.

He blew across the top of his coffee, trying to cool the liquid before he put the cup to his lips. "Are you going to be mad at me forever?" he asked, breaking the silence.

"I'm still trying to decide."

"Everyone's been worried about you."

"Oh yeah?" she asked, unaffected and then took a sip of her drink.

"Yeah. Danny, Aiden, everybody. Chad was lost without you."

She shook her head, fondly thinking of her little lab-tech lackey.

"You're the central pillar that holds that whole unit together, Stella. You don't know that?"

"Whatever," she replied and took another drink.

"It's the truth," he swore.

She scoffed at the comment as she crunched a couple of ice cubes between her back teeth. He didn't think Stella truly knew the extent of her importance in people's lives - especially those in their close work circle. Though he hated to admit it, he knew that the younger CSIs learned more from Stella than they did from him. She was truly a blessing in every sense of the word. And he tried to tell her in subtle ways every now and again. He wasn't sure if she ever caught on.

Still, something had been bothering him all day. Perhaps, it was the most confusing part of the whole ordeal. The one thing that didn't make sense, and it was driving Mac crazy.

"But I don't get it," he began. "You can fight with me toe-to-toe for hours on end. Why didn't you stand up to him?"

"I did." She paused and had to force the next sentence from her trembling lips. "And look what happened."

The vague gesture she made to her face was enough to make Mac's heart shatter. It made him wish that he'd done more than threaten Damon. So much more than threaten. Tears fell in streams while she held the beverage up to her mouth, presumably trying to steady her lips. She felt her bottom teeth chatter against the glass, making the faintest repetitive "clink" sound.

He reached over and grabbed a printed napkin from the dispenser, offering it out to her. She looked so broken. He rarely ever saw this woman cry. It caught him off-guard every time. She'd like you to believe that she is the epitome of strength. And, in some ways, she is. In their line of work, disconnecting yourself from feeling was standard procedure, or else the job wouldn't get done properly. At some point, you forgot you even knew how to cry. But at that moment, when he sees tears running down her face and how hard she's trying to fight them, it reminds him just how fragile she is. How human she is. And suddenly, she's not just his colleague; she is his whole world.

"Why'd you keep going for so long?"

She thought a bit before she responded, looking down into her drink as if she would find an answer there. But then she said, barely above a whisper, so low that Mac had to strain to hear it, "…Guess I didn't want to face the fact that another person doesn't want me."

_Who doesn't want you? Look at you. You're brilliant. You're gorgeous._

"What the hell are you talking about, Stella?"

It seemed Mac Taylor's ever-realistic head and his closely guarded heart were always at odds whenever Stella was concerned. And yet, somehow, his head always kicked his heart's ass.

"He didn't really want me. He just wanted someone he could control. And I just didn't want to see it." She traced the rim of her glass with her fingernail.

"Well, it's easy to be blinded."

"I have not had a single lasting relationship in 38 years."

She'd never used being an orphan as an excuse before. It wasn't just some card she played when the timing was convenient. He knew Stella wasn't like that. She never wanted any sympathy from being one. She just was one. And though Mac knew it hurt her sometimes to watch kids in the park playing football with their fathers or being pushed on swings by their mothers, Stella had long-since accepted the fact that she would never have such experiences. She used what she had to make her life the best she could.

He believed that in some small way, she was always striving for excellence because maybe one day, her parents would see what she'd turned into. And maybe they'd never know the ashes she arose from, but she'd know, and that meant more. Mac pitied her birth parents; they gave up something pretty great.

Still, he did worry about her sometimes – though not as much as he did today. How she'd spend hours going over a case and get frustrated when everything didn't perfectly align the way she desperately needed it to. How she'd throw her pen clear across the room when she couldn't see that everything was right in front of her all along. He was never far away to point out the one piece she needed to put the puzzle together. She buried herself in work with her never-ending crusade to find the truth instead of taking time for herself. But then again, he was doing the same thing.

"Well, what about me? Do I not count?"

She smirked sweetly at him. "Of course you do. But you know what I mean."

"Well now, that was a contradictory statement, wasn't it?" he smiled. "If I count – which you have admitted that I _do_ -- then it would merely make sense to say 'I have had only _one_ lasting relationship in 38 years,' am I right?"

"Don't get all cute on me, Mac."

There was that smile. The one he'd been longing to see all day. He wasn't sure it would ever find its way back to her beautiful face. That smile was the one thing that made the whole day full of fights and arguments and hours upon hours of worry… worth it.

The end.

* * *

A/N: Well, that's it. I know it doesn't entirely solve Stella's problem, and it's probably not the typical "MacStella" you all were wanting/waiting for, but I'm pretty happy with it. This ending was written simultaneously with the middle of the first chapter, so I knew it would end like this all along. I hope I've entertained y'all with this story that's been on my mind for a very long time. Thank-you for being patient while I worked stuff out and for the great reviews.- SS  
P.S. If you love me, you'll click on my profile and follow the links I've left in the bio. :) 


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